


Distance, Direction, Control, and Location

by thornclaw



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, I don't know what will happen here so work with me, M/M, Professional Soccer AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-01-08 01:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornclaw/pseuds/thornclaw
Summary: The Kirkwall Chainbreakers, the undeniable worst team in the Thedas league, have gotten a new manager- Meredith Stannard, known for her harsh coaching style. Co-captains Garrett and Marian Hawke have to keep the team from falling apart--while they navigate more personal issues with their teammates. If you think the chapter titles will all be lyrics from One Direction members' songs? You're goddamn right.





	1. Nice to Meet Ya

**Author's Note:**

> The team gets some startling news and shakeups have already begun.

_Kirkwall FC: We are proud to welcome our new manager Meredith Stannard! Stannard was the starting keeper for the Chainbreakers during the 2007, 2008, and 2009 Championship seasons. “Kirkwall has suffered under the ownership of Dumar, but I will bring glory back to the Chainbreakers!” _

The starting eleven—Bartrand was Maker knows where—for the Chainbreakers were sitting on the pitch after training when the tweet alert sounded. The announcement had come utterly out of nowhere for the squad, though the firing of their former manger, Dumar, was inevitable after two losing seasons in a row. But the change would undoubtedly cause trouble; Meredith Stannard was known for being difficult to work with, even as a player—she held the Kirkwall FC record for most red cards over her career.

“Shit!” Varric threw his shinguard on the ground and rubbed his forehead. “Dumar screwed us last season and now we got Stick-up-her-ass Stannard coming in.” He tossed the other shinguard across the ragged circle they formed, burning under the June sun. The season started in August, and such an abrupt change in leadership was sure to rock the already sinking boat.

Carver snatched the shinguard out of the air before it hit Merrill, who was humming as Isabela and Bethany helped her take the half-dozen hairties out of her sweat-soaked hair. “Well when you go 6-13-19 and finish last in the league you get a new manager. Maybe we won’t suck as much this year. Fucking Fereldan won the league last year!” Carver’s blue eyes flashed angrily, his short temper flaring. “At least their ‘Hero’ retired. Bullshit nickname.”

His brother Garret rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you win the Golden Boot with a record-breaking thirty-five goals and all of a sudden you’re called the greatest of all time. Totally undeserving of a title.” Carver scowled at his older brother while Bethany giggled.

Merrill looked up with wide eyes, asking the question no one dared to. “Do you think they will trade any of us? I do not wish to leave you all.” Her soft, accented question hung in the air as the team hesitated. Trades and releases were inevitable for any team--especially a team that ended up last in the league

Isabela gave her a peck on the cheek, dropping the hairties and entwining their fingers. “Of course not, kitten. And if they do maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be Aveline.” The broad-shouldered keeper scowled as Marian choked back laughter. “But look on the bright side! Maybe we can get traded onto a _winning_ team.”

“Yeah, don’t worry Merrill, they can’t trade us. No one wants us!” Marian crowed and elbowed Fenris until he laughed.

“Sebastian, you’re ever the optimist, what do you think?” The right winger fingered his necklace of Andraste’s sword. “Everyone have faith. The Maker will bring us through this together, but if we lose sight of each other then all hope is lost.” The others shared silent glances, rarely sure what to say to these sermons that weren’t entirely unappreciated but always awkward. Sebastian must have missed his true calling as a preacher; he had an uncanny gift of bringing religion into anything—but by the way he played you’d never know it. He fought hard and dirty, racking up the most fouls on the team.

Thankfully, Bartrand broke the uncomfortable silence with his usual grace. “Did you nug-humpers see this shit? They tell us through a damn tweet?” He picked up the closest ball and punted it into the stands of the stadium. “Well you won’t catch me dead playing for that bitch!”

“And thank the Maker for that.” The cold voice made them all freeze. Meredith Stannard’s severe face was narrow and unmoved as ever as she stalked across the pitch. “You’ve been released, so we don’t have to worry about insubordination, do we?” She came to a stop in the middle of the circle, sweeping her disapproving gaze over the squad flopped on the ground and ending on the dwarf.

Bartrand’s jaw dropped, and the remaining members of the Chainbreakers held their breaths. “_You goddamned_—I’ve played here for years, you can’t just release me! You’ll be left with no fucking left wing!” His face was vermillion as he marched to Stannard, his fists balled at his side. Varric and Carver leapt up to hold him back, Bartrand cursing everyone on the field.

Meredith hadn’t moved an inch, the mask of her face as still as it had been when she strode out. “That position’s already been filled. Your main concern should be the quickest way to leave this stadium before my temper runs out.” As she spoke a lanky man jogged out of the tunnel, and gave an easy grin to the shocked team.

“Wonderful, I love to make a controversial entrance. I’m Anders.”


	2. Stay Made of Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team starts to get more comfortable on the field, a homoerotic bro moment, and Isabela-sponsored horniness.

Varric let go of his brother and stared. “Anders? You were on the Fereldan team a couple years ago until they released you. You had the assist on the Hero’s thirty-fifth goal, right?” Carver huffed under his breath and Fenris rolled his eyes—neither were terribly impressed with the tidbit.

Anders shrugged humbly, though there was more than a hint of pride in his voice when he answered, “She was an incredible player, I just gave her the ball.” He clapped his hands together and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “But that was ages ago and we’ve apparently got a considerable amount of work to do here.” He tossed a wink at Carver who was smoldering beside Marian.

The dark-haired woman leapt up. “Marian, I’m co-captain with my brother Garrett.” She extended a hand and Anders’ eyebrows rose slightly before he took it. “We’re glad to welcome you to the team,” she said formally. She cursed herself for her stiffness but Meredith was unnerving. Marian could practically hear Isabela roll her eyes.

For a moment their hands clasped together, before Anders withdrew quickly, his face becoming serious. “It’s an honor to be here,” a collective scoff went through the team—this was a big step down from playing with the Hero—but no one dared say a word in front of Stannard, “Should we begin training?”

Bartrand, who had remained mercifully silent thus far grunted. “Fuck this. I won’t stay somewhere I’m not welcome.” Varric and Garrett practically fought each other to be the first to make the joke, but Bartrand realized his mistake immediately. “Damn you all. See how well you do without me.”

Aveline pulled the hairband off her head and remarked, “Well we could hardly do worse.” She sat up and began to roll her broad shoulder, removing the tape from around the ring on her left hand—a precaution to prevent injuries with caught wedding rings. Meredith narrowed her eyes, and took in the disheveled team readying to leave. She clapped her hands together once and began to bark orders.

“Training isn’t over, get up and get back to it. Vallen, get in goal, you’re with me.” Aveline nodded respectfully and began pulling on her gloves. Isabela and Bethany shared an exasperated glance and began to tie Merrill’s hair back again.

Garrett leapt to his feet and pulled Fenris up for good measure; the resentment the group felt about Stannard’s detached dictation seemed to evaporate as a grin broke Garrett’s face. He let out a whoop and clapped Fenris on the shoulder. “No rest for the wicked—or the last place team.”

***

Meredith had driven them hard for the past couple of days; the team hadn’t warmed to her in that time, but with the season less than two months away and the Kirkwall reputation already in the dirt they were in no position to complain. She was in her usual sour-faced mood for Friday training in the relentless heat; the sky burned as the squad finished their warmup, already dripping in the humidity.

The Chainbreakers had split into two for a possession drill stretching from the top of the penalty box to the bottom of the center circle; Bethany, Garrett, Varric, Isabela, and Anders slipped on neon pinnies while Marian grabbed a ball from the center spot. She dropped it at her feet and found Fenris wide on the left; Bethany stepped to him, light on her toes as she tensed but he chipped it over her to find Merrill in the center of the field. The slight woman settled it and took a gentle but lighting quick tap around Varric in front of her. As she turned and looked for Sebastian near the eighteen yard line that marked the penalty area she felt the press of Garrett against her shoulder as he challenged her for the ball and won. The burly center back heard a call and turned and switched the field, hitting a ball in the air to Anders on the rightmost side of play. Anders played the overlap pass to Isabela as she ran around him, and her rapid footwork led her around both Carver and Fenris, until Sebastian slid and took the ball from her feet.

The back and forth continued until Marian called a water break. She slipped in beside her younger sister as they grabbed bottles from the carriers. “How do you think we’re looking Beth?” She tightened Bethany’s ponytail, a habit since they were little. Marian and Garrett used to sit on either side of her and braid her pigtails—and Carver would try to cut them off.

Bethany lips pursed thoughtfully, and she slowly spoke, “The flow of play is smoother—Anders is a far better fit than Bartrand ever was…but Meredith is unsettling. I know it may seem unfair to judge her so quickly, but you know what she was like when she played.” Meredith had been a vicious player; her controversial career came to an end when she came out to stop the breakaway run of Duncan, a former Rivain player, but blatantly ignored the ball and tackled the attacking midfielder. The outrage following the tackle led to her being released from Kirkwall FC; she hadn’t been in the soccer scene in six years until she stalked onto the field last week.

Marian sighed. “I know, but we’re at the mercy of the club. You know that asshole Dumar won’t do anything. He barely holds any power, I’m pretty sure Elthina is still pulling the strings.” Elthina was the club’s former owner until she stepped down and Dumar bought the Chainbreakers, but it was no secret to the players that she still retained some power. “Dumar doesn’t have the balls to stand up to her. And we don’t have anything to complain about yet.” She rearranged her headband, and looked over to the team. “That’s long enough, let’s get back out there.” They tossed the bottles on the ground and jogged back onto the pitch.

***

Garrett winced as he pulled his jersey over his head; he had taken an elbow from Fenris during training, and there was a bruise blossoming on his ribs. He glanced over to the elf across the clubhouse who was bent down, untying his cleats. Garrett grinned and called over, “Fenris! Nice work today, gave me a little extra color.” He winked and tossed the jersey the elf’s way. “You’re lucky I like you or this’d be trouble.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Thank the Maker I’ve charmed you then.” He threw the jersey back, his mouth turned up slightly as he fought to remain serious. He walked off to the showers, calling over his shoulder, “I wouldn’t dare challenge our captain.”

Garrett smiled as he picked up his jersey. For all his gruffness Fenris could be snarkier than Varric, and he found infinite joy in drawing it out. He peeled off his undershirt and gently pressed the patch of discolored skin on his side; it wasn’t anything more than a bruise, but a perfect excuse to tease Fenris. Garret glanced over his shoulder as the door to the clubhouse opened and the newest member of the Chainbreakers walked in and nodded.

Anders cleared his throat. “So how’s the team looking?” His long fingers pulled the tie out of his hair, framing his pale jaw.

Garrett cast a sidelong glance at the blond man; he hadn’t spoken much off the field. He worked tirelessly through practice sessions and exchanged formalities with the other players off the field. The captain thought guiltily that the intensive training had left little room to welcome him. _A night out wouldn’t be a bad idea; a little de-stressing and team bonding can’t hurt_. “We’re all going out tonight if you want to join,” he spoke aloud, “What we lack in success we make up for in drinking.” He smiled brightly and nudged Anders.

“As long as the first round is on you.”

“Deal.”

***

“So when’s the last time you got laid?”

Marian groaned and glared at her phone, debating the pros and cons of hanging up on Isabela. This line of questioning was nothing new— the team was her life, and there weren’t exactly many eligible singles on a team that largely consisted of her siblings. Even Aveline had begun to notice her lack of companionship and she was about as sensitive to romance as a block of cement; Donnic had been a stroke of luck. For her part Isabela blamed Marian’s short temper on a lack of orgasm, and one can’t exactly argue with that kind of logic.

“It’s been…an understandable and definitely reasonable amount of time.” She looked in the mirror to put on her mascara, tugging at the wine colored top she had thrown on a few minutes ago. Garrett had announced an impromptu “team activity” at the Hanged Man, which undoubtedly meant he planned on tossing back more than a few beers and threatening to bench press Varric. “I met a woman a few months back.”

Bethany snorted from the hallway of the Amell mansion and walked to stand in the doorway, sporting a dusky purple tanktop. “You barely speak to anyone outside of the team unless you’re in a checkout line. And you take full advantage of self-checkout.” She pushed open the door and leaned towards the phone. “I never wanted to join this discussion but the lies are too much to handle, Isabela!” She grabbed a hairbrush from the counter and pulled it through her thick hair.

“I called it! Didn’t I call it, kitten?” Isabela let out a whoop that crackled through the phone. Merrill’s voice was distant.

“You did ma vhenan! Have you seen my nice shawl? I would like to wear it to the bar.”

“You lost it at the farmer’s market dear. Marian I’m sending you a playlist that might help with stress relief.” Isabela’s voice was choked with laughter—rarely a good sign.

Marian pulled up the link from her texts and dropped the mascara wand._ I Touch Myself by Divinyl, Dancing with Myself by Billy Idol, Dancin’ in Circles by Lady Gaga_…the playlist was titled “A Cornucopia of Self-Pleasure.” She put her phone down and checked her reflection. The scar across her nose stared back; in high school she took a cross from Carver in the face and it left her with a pink stripe along the bridge. Marian used to hate it, but it made for great photos on the field. “Oh fuck off Isabela! We’ll meet you guys at the Hanged Man.”

Bethany fluffed her hair and tossed her sister the jacket laying on the bed. “I fed the dog already so he should be good until we get back. Well, until I get back. It looks like you’ll be spending the night out if Isabela has anything to with it.” She smiled. “There’s always the most charming people in the pub.”

***

On the other side of the house the speaker in the bedroom, which had previously been blaring so loudly the bass had shook the windows, cut off so suddenly it left a heavy silence. Garrett stepped out from the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, looking out the bathroom door to his room; Carver threw the plug on the ground.

“Maker could that have been any fucking louder? Nearly burst the windows of the whole damn mansion. Hurry up, you said we were meeting at eight and you’re the last one ready as usual. Marian and Bethany are waiting in the foyer.” He huffed out a frustrated breath—Garrett swears he hears that sound echoed in his nightmares.

Garrett walked out and shoved him towards the door. “Well I can’t get dressed if you’re in here, asshole. I will listen to every complaint you in about ten drinks.” When his brother was behind the closed door Garrett tossed on a flannel and jeans. A night out with the whole team wasn’t a rarity per se, but in the offseason Isabela and Merrill traveled, Varric had family responsibilities, and Fenris usually disappeared for about two weeks with no explanation; it had been months since they’d all met for a drink.

And Garrett couldn’t deny his ulterior motives; he’d played on the Chainbreakers with Fenris for three seasons and never had the nerve to ask him out. Every time they found themselves alone Garrett blurted out something about how Fenris’ dedication to the team was inspiring. The captain glanced in the mirror, smoothing down his beard and tousling his hair. _Tonight for sure, no more fucking waiting. Three years is ridiculous_. “Carver you dick, get my keys. I’m ready to go, and not a second past 8:05.”

***

Anders stared into the cracked mirror—it was the nicest thing about his shithole apartment. The building was borderline decrepit, and the room was populated with the barest of décor; the faded wallpaper hung in strips and the wall was littered with holes. Beside the mirror a stained mattress lay on the floor with no bedframe, a threadbare blanket piled on the end; the connected bathroom was as dingy as the main room with a discolored bathtub trapped between the toilet and the wall, accompanied by sink cracked nearly in half.

It was hardly Anders’ first choice for lodging, but the lifestyle he’d led in the past wasn’t exactly conducive to squirreling away every paycheck. That was his excuse when asked, but truthfully he had sought out a place he knew would be populated by people with no insurance who needed medical care; before signing with Fereldan Anders had been balancing college soccer with studying pre-med—his interview to be accepted into medical school would have been held a month into his first season. The guilt over choosing a path of fame and money as a twenty-three year old drove him to set up a makeshift in his dingy apartment and offer free care to anyone desperate enough to need it.

Anders tore his eyes away from the mirror and looked to the busted wardrobe that housed the extent of his non-soccer related clothes. He grabbed a simple white button-down and black jeans; in his experience a night out at the bar with the team meant to wear something you weren’t too concerned about getting ruined—the Fereldan mindset was generally that whoever caused the most disaster was the night’s winner, and Anders was often a winner. He left his hair loose around his shoulders and puffed a breath. _Make friends and try not to make too big a scene_, an old friend’s voice echoed in his head. He smiled at that sadly and walked out the door without bothering to lock it—he knew his neighbors well enough not to.


	3. Hard Liquor Mixed With a Bit of Intellect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night out with the lads filled with alcohol, feelings, and sexual tension baby!

Fenris walked through the door of the Hanged Man, running his fingers through his hair. The bar was about as serene as a crashing plane with nearly as much hysteria. Varric lived in an apartment about the pub, ideal for housing friends too drunk to even get into a cab. Fenris signaled the bartender and ordered a glass of red wine, leaning against the bar as he took in the unique chaos of the night. There were at least three fights brewing, a man unconscious on the floor while his friend tried to drag him outside, and a half dozen broken bottles littered across the floor of the room. Garrett would be in his element.

_Speak of the devil_. Garrett walked through the door with his siblings and clapped the nearest man on the shoulder, his laugh ringing through the din. Fenris fought against the laugh that bubbled at his lips; as intimidating as Garrett looks, all broad shoulders and muscles, he had this incredible ability to draw people into his orbit—he could make anyone a drinking buddy. Fenris raised his glass as the Hawkes walked up and Garrett stopped in front of him and took a deep breath and stood for a moment with his mouth opened, frozen.

The other four stared at him—Garrett being lost for words was a miracle unto itself. It must have been at least ten seconds before Garrett gave Fenris a light push and shouted louder than was necessary, “What’s a man got to do to get a beer around here, right?” Fenris regained his balance and blinked. “Order.” Another stretch of silence, broken by Bethany taking on the apparently momentous task of ordering drinks.

After the bartender handed them their drink Marian and Carver melted into the crowd; Garrett took a sizable swig of his beer and cleared his throat. By Fenris’ count they had gone almost three minutes without talking and this was a promising sign. “Nice shirt. Plain black, classic and timeless. So…how have you been for the past few hours?” Garrett smiled stiffly, more nervous than the time he accidentally kicked a ball into Varric’s head at practice and the dwarf pretended to be unconscious—Garrett had been dialing 911 before Varric had taken mercy on him and broke the act.

Bethany looked at her brother with a strange expression then narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to go see if Merrill and Isabela have showed up.” She nudged her brother and gave Fenris a wink as she walked away.

Fenris frowned, uncomfortably aware that Garrett’s eyes flicked around nervously, like a hummingbird. “Are you alright? You seem…unsettled.”

Garrett looked at him, his expression unreadable. “Of course! I wanted to talk to you.” He shifted his feet and licked his lips. “Anything, my friend.” Fenris finished his glass and signaled for another. “How long have we known each other? Three years?”

“Exactly three. I was signed onto the Chainbreakers and on my first day you told me I didn’t belong because I didn’t look like a loser. Best compliment I’d received in years.” Fenris smirked.

“Luckily you turned out to fit right in!” Garrett laughed and hesitantly placed his hand on Fenris’ arm. “It’s, uh, been a great few years. You’ve been such a great friend.”

Fenris’ gaze sharpened. “Have you been traded?” Garrett pulled his hand back. “No! No, everything’s fine. It’s nothing, no worries, no big deal, no problem.” He paused and continued quickly, “I… think I saw Varric and, um, I have to pee. I’m gonna go pee on Varric—with Varric, we’re gonna go pee. I’ll see you later!”

Before Fenris could process all the words that had been spoken in about three seconds, Garrett had disappeared. He shook his head and drained his second glass in one gulp. He put the glass down and began to walk towards their usual table.

***

Garrett glared at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror. You just panicked so badly you said you had to go pee on your best friend. That was a real dick move. “Just ask him out, you see each other every day,” he spoke aloud, “Don’t be a fucking coward. It’s not a good look on you, you handsome bastard.” He bounced on his toes and puffed a couple short breaths, pumping himself up. Garrett pulled the door open with a heavy swing, bringing someone with it. Garrett balanced the man, realizing it was Anders. “Sorry, didn’t mean to whip you around like that, bud.”

Anders straightened, smiling sheepishly. “Wouldn’t want to pick a fight with you, I know that for sure. Are you alright? I, ah, overheard a little through the door. You are not a quiet man.”

Garrett let out a breathy laugh and ran his hand over his beard. “Just working some things out. I’m a big fan of confronting myself in mirrors covered in suspicious substances, so it’s been a good night so far.” He leaned against the wall, then grimaced and stood up straight—the wall was disconcertingly sticky. He hesitated and blurted out, “Have you ever been just completely, totally stupid about someone? To the point where you think you’ll either jump them at any moment or you’ll just…have a stroke and drop dead?”

Anders blinked, then smiled sympathetically. “Once. I always thought it was less of a feeling of butterflies in your stomach and more like those pieces of heavy machinery that crush cars. And acting on it feels like you’re the car.”

“Exactly! And I know that it’s not the end of the world, but I don’t want to be one of those damn little cubes. I want to be one of the really expensive, sexy cars, the kind that make people have to be on one of those strange addiction shows because they fall in love with me.”

“Yes...that is the dream. But hey, even if the pain decimates you any car can be repaired by a dad who is desperately trying to bond with his son.” Garrett paused. “Wait, so I’m the car? And is the father-son team like therapists, or a new relationship, or what?” He looked quizzically at Anders, who shrugged.

“I lost track of the simile. And I really hate to abandon you in a time of crisis, but I did come in here to use the restroom, Garrett.”

“Shit, we’re in a bathroom. Alright man, I’ll see you out there.” Garrett checked his hair in the mirror and stepped back into the bar.

***

Marian absentmindedly sipped her vodka tonic. Merrill’s skinny elbow bumped against her head and she winced. “Merrill, sweetie, please watch where you’re throwing those things. They’re like skinny little daggers poking me.”

Merrill twisted around from where she was perched on Isabela’s lap. “Oh, sorry! Isabela was telling me a terribly dirty joke. Would you like me to tell it?” She was barely half a drink into the night, but her cheeks were flushed and her words ended in giggling.

“Thanks, but if Isabela said it I’m positive it would turn my stomach too much to keep drinking.”

Isabela peeked around Merrill’s slim waist. “Perk up Marian! You’re looking so depressed even I’m losing my sex drive, and that’s saying something.” She picked the maraschino cherry out of Merrill’s fruity drink and dangled it in front of Marian’s face like a bad magician. “You’re getting horny…on the count of three you will point out tonight’s hookup.” Marian swatted at the fruit and laughed.

“This is your tactic now? What’s your stage name, Isabela: the Horrendous Horndog?”

“I was thinking ‘Abraca-Do Me.”

“Alaka-Slam Me.”

“Open Sesame. That one can stay the same.”

Carver gagged, shifting uncomfortably. “Maker, Isabela, can’t we have one night out where you don’t try to get someone laid?” He grabbed the cherry from her hand and bit it off the stem.

In the dim light of the bar his face looked soft and young, Marian thought. She felt a stirring in her chest as she looked at Carver; he was always determined to see himself as the black sheep of the family, spending hours alone in the yard practicing. He would come inside exhausted and Marian would roll her eyes as Leandra scolded him, but she would sneak the container of Epsom salt from the kitchen so he could soak his feet. Marian shook her head to clear the memories and watched as Isabela’s lips turned up.

“Is that the first cherry you’ve popped, Carver?” Isabela howled, while Carver blushed deep red. Marian smirked, then leaned over to explain the joke to Merrill—she never got them right away, but enjoyed them nonetheless.

Carver grumbled, “I hate you sometimes, but I did walk into that one.” He put the stem in his mouth and his brow furrowed as he worked at it. “I’ve never been able to do that thing where you tie it.” He pulled out the stem, bent at a sad angle. “Isabela, I bet you know this game. Only the most talented of tongues can tie a knot in a cherry stem. Some friends of mine used to play it in Lothering.”

Marian made a face. “Carver please don’t tell me you practice this often. Although now that I think of it, every time Mother bought cherries at the market they disappeared awfully fast.”

Merrill smiled, though Marian had noticed she had looked somewhat crestfallen at the theft of her cherry. “I’m sure Isabela can do it. She’s very talented, and not just with a ball at her feet.” She looked proud at joining in the dirty conversation, her large eyes bright.

Marian wondered sometimes at the relationship between the two women; Merrill was brilliant, but so innocent she seemed too delicate for soccer. _Though that has worked in our favor; everyone always underestimates the player who watches birds fly overhead during warmups_. And Isabela was raunchy enough to shock the bartender, a grizzled man who had certainly had to hose down some rowdy patrons in his time. But seeing the two together seemed perfectly natural and balanced—even when Isabela did body shots off of Merrill she was careful not to displace the flowers her girlfriend had braided into her hair.

Varric’s voice cut into her musings, “I don’t think anyone could doubt that Isabela is experienced with her tongue.” He sat down in his designated chair at the head of the table and dodged the drink coaster that came flying at him. "What? Aveline isn't here to be a buzzkill, it falls to me." Behind him, Bethany approached the group with a bowl of cherries.

She sat them down and chided, “I saw Carver pick up the cherry and knew he would need another twenty. He was always trying so desperately to tie the stems into knots, I swear he ate an entire orchard just for the stems.” She laughed as she sat down beside her brother and he smiled despite her teasing.

Isabela picked up the bowl and began to hand it around, “Well now we have to know who can do it.” She adjusted her shirt and looked past Varric. “Fenris! And you found Sebastian. I bet you have both have dexterous mouths.”

Sebastian sighed, knowing this conversation could have no Maker-worthy ending. “I’m not sure I want to know the context of this conversation.” He sat down beside Bethany regardless, and took in the bowl of cherries. “I may have figured it out for myself. I have confidence and practice enough in my skill. Fenris, perhaps you would like to try?” Marian and Isabela whistled as the elf picked up a cherry.

Marian waved as Garrett sauntered up, noticing he seemed flustered as he took his place between Varric and Fenris. As he sat, Fenris pulled the stem out of his mouth, a perfect knot in the middle of it. The table erupted with cheers, and Garrett coughed loudly, looking like he was being strangled. Marian shot him a confused look but he shook his head, reaching for the bowl.

He glanced at the dwarf at head of the table and jerked his chin at him. “Varric I’ll bet you the next round I can do this faster than you.” He stuck the stem in his mouth with a cocky look on his face. The group watched as his face twisted as he tried to tie it. Merrill smiled encouragingly, though even her belief faded as the show went on.

Isabela groaned. “Well this is embarrassing.”

Marian reached across the table and swatted her brother’s forehead. “You lost, dumbass, please put yourself out of your own misery and spit that shit out.” She sat back down as Garrett pulled the stem from his mouth and folded it in a napkin, the tips of his ears red as he went to get the team’s drinks.

Varric chuckled. “He never knows when to fold.” He popped a cherry in his mouth and within seconds a loose knot was presented and the team stared in surprise. “What can I say, I’m a renaissance man. Who’s next?”

Marian looked up as light steps approached; Anders pulled up a chair beside her, light blond strands falling loose from is pulled back hair. _Maker, he has a nice jawline. Wouldn't mind seeing that...ugh Isabela is so in my head_. His eyes light on the bowl of fruit and he picked up two. 

"I actually learned a trick about cherries from Cousland back when I played for the Mabari. Carver I bet you'll want to take notes." The group stifled laughs as Carver threw his hands up. The laughter died down as Ander pulled the stems tied in a loop. They gaped at him as he grinned smugly.

Marian exhaled quickly. "I think we have a winner."

Isabela hummed appreciatively. "And maybe even a solution to your problem." 


	4. When the Wolves Come Out, Headed Straight for Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of the night. Sorry this has been forever, the end of 2019 was cluttered, and for a while I thought this fic was too ridiculous to continue.

The night had grown soft, the dim light leaving smears of gold across every face in the bar; Fenris sat across from Bethany and Carver, the rest of the table emptied as the night continued. Isabela had supported Merrill out the door after just two and a half drinks, helped by the sober Sebastian who had insisted on driving them home—an act not requested by Isabela.

Fenris leaned forward on his elbows and cleared his throat. “Bethany, is everything alright with Garrett? He’s acting strangely tonight, he’s yet to stand on a table and try to convince everyone to start calling him ‘The Dragon.’”

Bethany laughed and wound a lock of dark hair around her fingers. “Have you asked him?”

“Yes, and he babbled nonsense about how close we are and then made a bizarre joke about urinating on the dwarf. Not his best moment.”

“I don’t mean any offense Fenris, really, but I hardly have time to act as a messenger or translator for the two of you.” She nudged Carver, whose head was dipping towards the table. “Carver, what advice do you have for Fenris?”

Carver looked blearily at the two of them and grumbled irritably, “If you’re going to hook up, just do it. And don’t make the rest of us suffer through this preamble any longer.” He laid his head on the table and Bethany shrugged.

“Not known for having a way with words, but he does speak for all of us on that one.”

“I don’t find your jokes any funnier than Garrett’s.” Fenris snapped.

Bethany’s lips pursed in irritation. “Maker, Fenris! It’s been three years, there’s no way you haven’t noticed.”

Fenris blushed, hoping the uneven brightness of the room hid his embarrassment. He always suspected how Garrett felt, he just never thought anything would come from it. It seemed like harmless flirting, hardly more intense than how Garrett and Varric talked to each other, or how Isabela talked to everyone. Not that Fenris wasn’t guilty of playing along, or that he hadn’t thought about Garrett. _He has that _exhausting _habit of constantly wiping the sweat off his face with the hem of his jersey, showing the trail of hair leading down his soft stomach… _Fenris shook his head angrily and grumbled. “That’s ridiculous. And even if it were true that’s unprofessional.”

Bethany put her hand on his arm, her dark eyes narrowed with sympathy. “I know you want to think of what’s best for the team, but maybe what’s best isn’t to shut yourself off and ignore what’s in front of you.” Fenris tensed and she drew back her hand.

He knew that while her words were right, that’s not why he couldn’t be with Garrett; Garrett was, as Carver puts it, ‘annoyingly, exhaustingly perfect,’ a kind man who accepted even Fenris onto the team. And Fenris also knew himself—he was prickly and brusque compared to Garrett’s enveloping warmth, like cold steel threatening a fire-warmed marshmallow. Fenris’ throat tightened, and he stood abruptly.

“I’ll see you both at practice tomorrow.” He ignored Bethany’s mouth opening as she started to speak and turned on his heel. “Tell no one we spoke of this.” He ignored Marian waving goodbye and bumped past Anders as he walked out the door.

***

Anders rolled his eyes, rubbing his shoulder where they’d collided. “Kind of a dick, that one.” He muttered to himself as he took a long sip of his drink. A hand clapping on his shoulder made him choke.

“Now Blondie, play nice. The elf brightens up once you get to know him—if you’re around long enough you may even get to hear one of his trademark snide comments An honor, truly.” Varric gestured to a nearby table and the two sat down; Anders noticed Varric’s shirt has become increasingly unbuttoned with every drink. Varric gestured drunkenly at him, ale sloshing. “So what brings you to Kirkwall? I thought you retired—Maker knows there were rumors you had quit playing every year.”

“I may have pondered early retirement a few times, drafted more than a few announcements. The Fereldan Hounds expect dedication without distraction—relationships included. Especially with other players.” The confession slipped out, eased along by intoxication that loosened his lips and urged his tongue. Anders’ fingers gripped the table for a second, an involuntary rush of anger burning through his veins.

“Ah, a tale of star-crossed lovers I hope?” Varric eyebrows raised and Anders thought he could see his eyes gleam.

Anders laughed. “If you want to call it that. I don’t care to talk about it, Varric, but I assure you it’s not so lascivious as you’re hoping.”

“Well that can be fixed with editing. But alright, Blondie I won’t prod.” Varric drained the glass and leaned over the sticky table. “I would tell you not to expect that level of professionalism from the Chainbreakers but with Stannard the new manager, anything could happen. Our athletic trainer worked with her back when she played and said she got a teammate released when she found out he had hooked up with the starting striker.”

Anders shook his head and sighed. “The double-edged sword of our job, Varric. You take on something this momentous and the team comes before everything—to forget that is to risk hurting the person you want so badly to be able to love.”

Varric gazed at his empty glass, his hand rubbing a tattoo on his arm—an arrow with a name written across it. “Might be time for us to gather the group, the mood of the night is quickly taking a turn.”

***

Garrett was slumped on the bar, his forehead sticking to the beer-soaked wood. Marian was staring at him, rather unsteady herself. Her light voice had a rasp to it when she spoke.

“Garrett, I haven’t seen you this depressed since Fereldan traded us to Kirkwall. Did you get in a fight with Carver because you made fun of his tattoo?”

Garrett laughed weakly. “He loves to make that damned thing bark. But no, I’m fine. I’m just resting! A good party has to ebb and flow, and I’m just ebbing a little too hard.” His eyes flicked up to look at Marian. “I have to confess something. I had ulterior motives when I arranged this.” He picked his head up, grimacing as his skin stuck.

Marian sat on a stool, her eyes wary. “Go on.”

“I need to tell you something, and you need to be cool about it. It may come as a shock, but I trust you and I need to get this off my chest. I’m… in love with Fenris.”

Marian blinked a few times, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, man.”

“Shocking I know—wait, that’s it? No horror or judgment? No lightning bolt of realization?”

“I don’t mean to be a jerk, but you’re not subtle. You tell him he’s handsome at_ least_ once a day. One time you called him at like _midnight_ to see if he was okay because earlier he made an offhand comment about his hair not falling in the right place.”

“I just wanted him to know it still looked good! But I guess I should be happy you’re not disgusted with me or anything. Like they say, don’t lick a gift horse in the mouth.”

“So close, Gar.”

Garrett sat up and stretched. “I need to tell him, Marian. For three years I’ve felt sick with myself for not being brave enough to just say something, and I’m so fucking tired of not being honest. He’s just so…_good_. Everything thinks he’s so harsh but he’s one of the most tender people I know. When Isabela gave me a concussion because she bet Sebastian she could hit me in the head from midfield, Fenris was the first one by my side. I’ve never known anyone who just…_knows _me like he does.” He leaned his head on his sister’s shoulder and groaned, “But Maker, I’m terrified it’ll unbalance everything. Even if he feels the same what happens on the field?” 

Garrett felt Marian rub his back, resting her cheek on his head. He felt her voice as much as heard it when she spoke. “Isabela and Merrill could tell you that. But I can’t give you advice—I don’t think you should rock the boat, but I would tear Kirkwall in two if it meant you being happy. Not to sound like I like you or anything.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare think you cared about me! Not the stone-hearted Marian!” Garrett said as he reached up and patted her cheek.

“Hilarious.”

The two were interrupted by uneven footsteps as the remaining Chainbreakers wound their way to the pair. Bethany and Anders, thankfully sober, walked on either side of Carver, who stumbled along and hotly refused any attempts to balance him. Varric led the group, his arms flung out to the side.

“Our brave and fearless captains, looking…less than intimidating.” He said as he approached. “Come on Hawkes, let’s call it a night. We have practice tomorrow.”

He reached out to help Marian and they supported each other as Garrett flopped onto Carver, who immediately buckled under his weight. Bethany quickly stepped between the two, waving at Anders to prop Carver back up as she wrapped an arm around Garrett’s waist.

The unkempt group staggered their way through the crowd until a blond man in a slightly too small suit bumped into Bethany, making her stagger back as she clung to Garrett.

“Hey!” She protested, glaring at the man. He looked at her dismissively then turned to wave at the bartender.

Marian’s brow furrowed and she let go of Varric, lurching towards the man. “Hey buddy, you bumped into my sister. Even in Kirkwall apologizing is the right thing to do.” The man pushed a blond curl off his forehead and turned around.

“Your sister bumped into me. If she would like to apologize, then I’m open to hearing it.” As he looked at the group a strange expression flickered across his face. “But otherwise, I think we’re done here.” He walked deeper into the crowd, stiffly weaving his way through the drunk patrons.

Marian started after him, but Bethany grabbed her wrist. “It’s fine Marian. And we have gone almost a whole night out with no fights starting. Don’t cause trouble, even with that ass.”

Anders said thoughtfully, “He looked at us rather oddly. And he seemed familiar, didn’t he?”

“Fuck him.” Carver’s voice was slurred and muffled, his hands rubbing his face. “Maker, can we leave? I think I’m going to be sick. Cherries and beer only mix so well.”

***

Marian sipped the glass of water, leaning on the dingy countertop in Varric’s apartment; he had insisted they all stay the night there. Garrett and Varric had immediately fallen asleep on the ragged blue couch together, while Bethany wrangled Carver into Varric’s bed with water and aspirin. Marian closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, the excitement of the night catching up to her.

“Are you alright? You should probably get some rest too.” Marian opened one eye, Anders blurry in the doorway, his coat in his hand. “I was just about to head out.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I handle my booze a little better than my brothers.”

Anders crossed the room, pressing two pills into her hand. “Still, I have a feeling you’ll need these.”

“I’ll keep it under advisement. Nice performance tonight, by the way. The two cherry stems? _Very _impressive.” Marian raised her eyebrows at him and he laughed.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll show you one day.” Anders grinned, then cleared his throat and looked away. “Sorry, that’s, uh, not appropriate.”

“I don’t mind. You’ve seen by now we’re not exactly Chantry sisters here.” Marian swallowed the pills with a swig of water. “And think tonight kind of sums us up. A swirling mass of disaster in the shape of people.”

Anders nudged her, “I love it. How boring would it be if you didn’t care enough about each other to stick around with all this? Disastrous? Sure. But I’ve never seen a team this close-knit, and it makes it seem worth it.”

Marian stared at him, surprised at the amity with which he spoke. “You say that now but wait until Aveline and Isabela go after each other after a loss. Aveline complains we’re not serious enough, Isabela complains that her nagging throws off the chemistry of the team.” Marian smiled, and said, “But…I guess you’re right; we all still stick around. And when a man on the street called Aveline a bitch, Isabela threatened to make his eyes into a necklace.”

“I believe it.” Anders slid his coat on his shoulders and moved to the door. “And no other team in Thedas has a captain like you—clever, skilled, and beautiful? I think I’ll stick around too.” He stepped out of the kitchen and a moment later the apartment door closed softly.

Marian stared into her glass, cursing. _I hate when Isabela is right._


End file.
